


Or Lack Thereof

by WordsAblaze



Series: Witcher Fics [11]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Almost meetings, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Goodbyes, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, M/M, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), again I'm sorry, but it's part of whump week, but like pre-jaskel, jaskel, jaskier whump week, no beta we die like jaskier doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25506622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAblaze/pseuds/WordsAblaze
Summary: Jaskier loves meeting new people but sometimes he just wishes he could part ways with them properly. Or, the three times he doesn't get to say goodbye to Eskel - day one of jaskier whump week.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Fics [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726360
Comments: 16
Kudos: 94





	Or Lack Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> me? starting a prompt week despite my half a dozen wips? more likely than you think. but also: me? turning every prompt i fill into jaskel? even more likely than you think.
> 
> the prompt for today is "goodbyes" btw x

Making camp in the middle of the woods is far from Jaskier’s favourite thing to do.

But needs must and since Geralt has gone off to hibernate or whatever, there’s no way he can travel through the night without being attacked by something or the other. 

Especially since he’s cold and he’s tired and he’s pretty sure that someone had been following him before he’d left the last town. Granted, it’s perhaps not the best idea to be a source of light in an otherwise dark forest but he has no other choice.

He’s only just settled in front of his small fire when something lands beside him. He lets out a rather undignified yelp and jumps backwards, instinctively brandishing his lute in front of him as if it were a weapon. 

“Believe me, you won’t even scratch me with that thing,” a deep voice says.

Jaskier scoffs but relaxes as he catches sight of amber eyes illuminated by the firelight. “And you’re a witcher so you won’t kill me or harm my wonderful lute.” 

The witcher chuckles and gestures to what Jaskier now has the sense to realise is a rabbit. “And you look like you’re in need of a decent meal.” 

Although the gesture only goes to prove that witchers really aren’t all that bad, Jaskier isn’t sure whether he should be flattered that another one chose to help him or offended that he’d been yet again deemed as incapable of providing for himself. 

“Well, won’t you share it with me, darling?”

The witcher pauses, clearly having intended to just leave. “You would want to share a meal with me?”

Jaskier nods slowly. “Of course. As long as you know what herbs are, unlike a certain white wolf we all know.”

The witcher laughs and places himself on the other side of the fire. “I’m Eskel, and I have more advanced taste buds than my brother.” 

Making a note to tease Geralt with that another time, Jaskier offers Eskel a grin. “Well then, it’d be my pleasure to share a meal with you, Eskel.” 

And so they do.

It’s quite easily one of the best meals Jaskier has ever had, and not because of the food. 

Later, he’ll be able to recall fragments: the scent of spice, the feel of old scars, the sound of unexpected laughter. Later, he’ll buy the pretty ring with the ruby embedded into it that he sees in the market because he doesn’t want to forget the witcher in the red armour. Later, he will poetically mourn an experience he almost had.

But when Jaskier wakes up, Eskel is gone. 

He doesn't quite remember falling asleep but he can’t bring himself to be surprised because of course a handsome witcher wouldn’t want to spend the night with him when he could be enjoying himself at Kaer Morhen. 

And in fact, there’s no sign that anyone else had been there at all, aside from the rapidly fading happiness in Jaskier’s heart. Because although the soft rays of sun are warm, there’s a coldness inside of him that comes from having to accompany himself once again.

If he couldn’t still taste the lingering herbs on his tongue, he’d be inclined to think that he’d imagined meeting Eskel altogether. 

“Note to self, don’t be tired when meeting witchers in the woods,” Jaskier mumbles to himself, because it’s not that he regrets meeting Eskel but it’s somehow painful to have only experienced a glimpse of him.

He then curses because he’s more or less entirely sure he hadn’t told Eskel his name in return. He hopes that next time, he remembers to introduce himself properly - maybe that way witchers will stick around rather than leaving with no warning.

Because this time, he didn't even get to say goodbye.

-///-

Something else Jaskier hates is being in dire need of a healer.

But he can’t feel his leg and there’s something seriously wrong with his shoulder and he can’t remember the lines to his own songs and that just won’t do. Stupid bandits.

“H’llo? please h’lp…” Jaskier manages as he stumbles in the path of the first person he sees upon reaching the town.

“D’you’ve a heal’r?” he asks, groaning as the stranger steadies him and thus accidentally puts pressure on his burning shoulder.

“I know where to find one,” the man replies, altering his grip on Jaskier so he’s not hurting him.

Jaskier frowns at how familiar the voice sounds but he can’t even remember what his name is, never mind someone else’s, so he just nods quickly and hopes he hasn't taken too long to reply. “Please. C’n you take me th’re?” 

The stranger must take pity on him because he feels an arm settle around his waist and the two of them start moving towards where Jaskier presumes the healer is to be found. 

He feels awful making someone go out of their way to help him but he knows he’s close to collapsing and he really doesn’t want to die in a town he doesn’t even know the name of so he had no choice but to bother someone else.

He can feel his eyes slip shut every so often but each time, they shoot back open and he’s reminded that he’d actually hit his head very hard on that rock when he’d fallen, like an absolute idiot. 

“Th’nk’ou,” Jaskier mumbles, well aware that he’s being a burden to the very muscular man practically dragging him along and hating the very idea. 

“Try and keep your eyes open, bardling.” the man replies.

Jaskier is almost certain he’s heard that voice before but all he can recall is fire and something about a goat and neither of those make sense to him, but then again, the ground keeps switching places with the sky so he doesn’t know what to think.

“What happened?” another voice asks urgently.

As if on cue, Jaskier’s knees decide they no longer want to support his weight. 

The man holding him up staggers but dutifully pulls him back upright and for a blessed moment, he can pretend he’s just being held for the sake of it rather than because his life depends on it. Oh, how he wishes that were true.

But then someone curses and someone else says something about his blood and he’s so tired and all he can think to do is whisper another “th’nk ‘ou ‘gain,” to the oddly familiar stranger still holding him up before his eyes flutter shut.

And when he wakes up, the healer tells him he’s lucky to have a friend like Eskel but really, he just wants to cry at learning he’d come oh so close to the witcher once more because all he’d done this time was make a right fool of himself.

And he still didn’t get to say goodbye.

-///-

Another habit Jaskier wishes he didn’t have is being drugged. 

But it’s hardly his fault that some people just can’t accept that their desires aren’t reciprocated no matter how obvious he makes it.

And unfortunately, he sometimes doesn’t notice until far too late. 

Which is why he doesn’t decline the drink offered to him as he takes a quick break from singing because really, nobody wants to hear a sore throat sing.

“Thank you, my dear,” Jaskier winks at the woman who’d handed him the cup. 

She just smiles and shares a glance with the man sitting next to her as Jaskier returns to the other end of the tavern and continues with his performance, fulfilling someone’s request for the next song.

He’d intended to sing for at least another hour but he finds that he can barely feel himself think after only half that time. 

“Sorry, I think I’ll have to retire early for the night!” Jaskier announces, wincing inwardly as people loudly voice their complaints and expectations. 

He hears himself promise to perform in the morning but the room seems to be spinning and he’s not sure who exactly he’s addressing. 

“Let me help you,” someone says softly.

Jaskier frowns as he feels someone take his lute from him but hands as soft as their owner’s voice have settled firmly around his arm and he can’t seem to shrug them off, he can’t seem to avoid being guided somewhere.

“Wait, my lute…” he manages to mumble, but the hands only tighten their grip on his arm, hard enough for him to grimace.

“We’ll return it to you in the morning,” a different voice says and Jaskier shakes his head.

He tries and fails to stop his feet from moving. “No, I- wait, we? Who’s we?”

The hands on his arms seem blurred and for the life of him he can’t tell whether they belong to the same person or not. For a minute, all he can focus on is the fact that he can’t see his own hands and thus he can’t be sure he still has them.

“You’re not as light as you look,” someone comments to his left.

Foolishly, he turns his head to look. Only to promptly groan in pain as his head throbs at the movement. He squeezes his eyes shut and almost forgets how to breathe until his lungs scream at him and he inhales sharply. 

“Maybe we gave him too much?” the person on his right asks.

But he doesn’t know what she means. Too much what?

“Stop talking or he might remember this tomorrow,” the other person hisses and he realises he’d said that aloud. Oops. 

“Wait, where’re we going?” Jaskier dimly hears himself ask.

Neither of them reply as they speed up and Jaskier has to bite his lip to stop himself from gagging at the wave of nausea that hits him. 

He doesn’t want to go anywhere, he just wants his lute and the bed he’d booked for himself and maybe a drink because his mouth is so dry, as dry as his lute needs to be, and where did he put his lute again?

“I would let go of the bard if I were you,” a new voice says, but it’s not that new because Jaskier knows that voice, he’s sure he does. 

“And who are you to stop us?” 

Jaskier doesn’t hear the reply because a sharp pain echoes in his head and he moans, curling into himself, which causes the hands on his arms to loosen considerably.

And then they vanish altogether and Jaskier expects to hit the floor but for some reason that doesn’t happen. Also the arms now holding him seem far nicer than the previous ones so he’s not complaining. 

“Thank you,” the nice voice says, sounding amused, so he must have said that out loud again. Whoops.

“Let’s get you to your room,” he hears as his feet are lifted into the air, along with the rest of him.

Amber eyes and half a smile drift into his mind and he finds that he trusts the new and yet oh so familiar voice. He doesn’t think of anything else until he feels a bed beneath him and a blanket above him, a blanket that feels a lot less comfortable than the arms of the kind voice. 

“You can sleep now,” the kind voice tells him.

Jaskier nods blindly, then groans when the action only hurts him. But he closes his eyes nonetheless, not that they were really open, and hopes that he manages to mumble an apology before falling asleep.

Once again, he wakes to be told that he’s fortunate to have a witcher on his side.

And once again, he finds himself grieving a moment he could have had, a moment that keeps slipping from his grasp the same way perfect rhymes often elude him, a moment it seems he is not fated to deserve. 

He wishes he knew how to earn it, wishes he could find a way to properly bid Eskel farewell if he is to always be denied a fully-fledged meeting, if he is to be denied the memory of their fleeting interactions. 

But this time he hadn’t even said hello, never mind goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is like fragments of an actual fic but i don't have time to extend this atm, maybe in future? idk. i do promise the rest of the fics for this week are more blatantly jaskel though, if you're interested :p 
> 
> thanks for reading! toss a kudos/comment? x


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